Whispers of amity
by sakuraxkisu
Summary: For Allurement. SasuSaku, KakaRin. The past, the present and the similarities in-between.


**Whispers of amity**  
_The past, the present and the similarities in-between._

* * *

_Dedicated to Allurement. (Because she wanted a SasuSaku and KakaRin. Plus, I like the idea of KakaRin and SasuSaku lol. And I want her to continue loving SasuSaku!)_

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**Past**

* * *

His vision blurs and distorts. Everything appears as haze, in his line of vision.

(_through his blood-red eye, the image of his surroundings flicker, changing from one to another—rounded leaves, shaded vibrant July green, strewn across the thick, grassy grounds—wisps of thin, light magnolia and pearl clouds fading into calm light azure—a blindingly bright light emanating from the golden sun, pouring on his skin and scorching his pale arms_)

The inky tattoo on his arm gleams in the light—for a fleeting moment, he thinks the tattoo has come to life and is escaping from him.

(_escaping from his line of vision—escaping through his lithe, slim fingertips, brushing past his hold—as does everything else_)

The mask on his face feels clammy, his nose and cheeks caked in sweat—the humid sensation causes his stomach to clench, his stomach muscles shuddering and contracting.

The thick odour of metallic iron lingers in the air like an unwanted fog, invisible to the naked eye—the scent only heightens the shuddering of his stomach muscles. He can already feel an acidic, burning sensation within his throat, scorching his insides and scarring him from within.

The dried blood on his hands tickles his skin, the heat burning his skin, as he flexes his digits, gingerly and steadily.

(_the click of his fingers stretching and flexing echoes in his ears—for a fleeting moment, everything turns black, everything charring and burning inky black before his eyes, before returning to his original vision_)

Tousled strands of silver and wisps of pearl-grey stick to his forehead, caked in sweat and thick scarlet blood. The scent is revolting and causes the shuddering of his stomach muscles and nausea within him to toughen tenfold.

For a second, everything shines brightly—blindingly bright, right to the point where he wishes he was blind. Then the light dims, as though nightfall came early—everything appears as a shadow, a silhouette of darkness.

(_then, within the darkness and the layers of blood, he hears a voice_)

"Kakashi…?" A rich, feminine voice echoes in his ears, a cautious call, rather than a question. The light appears again, but dims much quicker this time.

(_the sound of grass ruffling and crinkling enters his ears, as does the sound of harsh, laboured breathing, ragged and already revealing her weariness_)

The sound of her ragged breathing and the crinkling leaves becomes louder and louder with every passing second, as does her presence.

"Kakashi…?" Her resonant, rich, yet light, breathless voice enters his ears. It's a beautiful sound, beautiful enough to make him wonder if she would sound so beautiful laying next to him, but he brushes the thought away.

The sound of the crunching leaves and grass comes to a stop—the ragged breaths hitch, ending with an almost silent gasp.

Through his bloodied eye, he can see a dark silhouette, the figure of the silhouette slender and thin.

"Yo…_Rin_…" He murmurs casually, his voice husky and guttural, _breathless_—the mixed scent of musk and metallic iron enters her nostrils, sickening—another, much louder gasp leaves her chapped, arid lips, a strangled, soft noise escaping her parched throat.

"Kakashi!" She screams, her voice a mixture of relief, anger and sincerity. Her body posture immediately slackens, as she drops onto the ground, her knees colliding against the ground harshly, though she pays it no heed, "Kakashi, you idiot!"

(_and just when he thinks he's all alone, she's the one who comes bounding in as his saviour—and he's the one who lets her_)

The last words sound more like a sob, but she says no more after that, only hiccupping. A bright, teal-hued light is shone upon his chest, warm and radiant, but not blindingly bright. This light he could tolerate.

(_and as she heals him, the ghost of a former smile graces his lips, as the corners of his eyes crinkle, unbeknownst to her doe-eyed, earnest, russet gaze—the world soon goes dark, the last image of her flickering in his mind, fading to black_)

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**Present**

* * *

The once steady beat of his heart has turned into an erratic thrumming, quick and fast. His grip on the kusanagi slackens, blood caked all across his calloused palm, as the kusanagi slowly slides out of his weakened grasp and dropped to the ground.

After all those years—_how many exactly? Seven? Six? Nine?_—he did it. He's done the deed. He's fulfilled his life as an 'avenger'.

He killed Uchiha Itachi.

(_the body of the man he once felt compelled to call his older brother, with pride and conviction, lay before him, blood spread across his body—splatters of blood dappled Itachi's pale, deadly pale flesh, a slightly aquamarine tint to his skin—a thick trail of blood rested below his hollow, lifeless eyes_)

The image sends tremors rippling through his backs, but he pays the dull shudders no heed. The sensation slowly fades, as his eyes delve into his surroundings.

(_the foliage is beautiful—the high peak of the mountain shimmers in the distance, wisps of magnolia and opal drifting by the peak agonisingly slowly—the vivacity and vastness of the calm azure sky still surprises him—like an ocean in the sky—but the sensation still dulls, rendered ordinary_)

Droplets of crimson pooled at the scars and cuts on his arms, the bruises on his face, arms and legs darkening, turning to livid yellows and contused greens, melding into an indigo tint. Scarlet pours out of one wound in particular, at his chest. Thick crimson pours out of him, forming a rivulet of blood beneath him, sickening him, though nothing changes in his facial expression.

Patches of livid indigos and pale yellow dapple his face and neck, a much darker bruise resting on his neck, from where his brother's calloused, slim digits has squeezed and tightened around his neck. Unconsciously, he brings his hand to his neck, letting it rest there for a few moments, before falling to his side.

(_he can still feel the throbbing sensation within his necks, his skin and muscles sore from overexertion in this final battle_)

He doesn't feel happy, nor does he feel any sign of depression. No anger, no resentment, no rapture. Not even contentment. He feels…empty. Hollow. As though all the excitement has left him—the excitement of avenging his clan and bringing his dreams and aspiration to life.

Everything seems so bleak, he realises. Even the radiant glow of the golden sun—even the vibrant azure sky, vast and gleaming—even the bright greens in the grass and leaves—even the most vibrant scenery there was, everything still felt so…barren. Austere. Bleak.

(_a sudden sensation of dread brews in the pit of his stomach—he suddenly realises that he was betrayed—betrayed by everyone, even himself—in fact, he feels most betrayed by himself; for believing that he wouldn't feel so empty after he avenges his clan—if anything, it only made the sensation worse_)

He feels like a fool—more than he ever has in his entire life.

(_foolish little brother—he thinks, the corners of lips lifting, but not in a happy gesture; his smile is too crooked, too uneven to even match a real smile, like _hers_ or _his_—what a fitting title_)

Slowly, his body drops to the floor, toughened knees colliding against the grass and leave strewn ground.

(_how could he have been so stupid, to believe his stubborn self over everyone else? How could he have even begun to think that he could get rid of his emptiness by killing, when it was killing that had caused this emptiness in the beginning?_)

Blood continues to pool out of his chest, as his chest and marred face falls to the ground. The thick scent of metallic iron, mixing with the pungent fume of musk only added to the feeling of dread within the pit of his stomach. The emptiness is slowly replaced by regret, by anger, by _bitterness_.

(_how could he have been stupid enough to think that killing would get rid of something that was caused from killing? He was a genius—he should've known not to do something so stupid_)

The muscles of his stomach shudder and contract from the dread within him and from the repulsive fumes gathering and mixing with each other. The nausea within him rises slowly, but steadily—he soon begins to feel an acidic sensation burning his throat.

(_the irony of his situation is so painful—so bitter, yet so undeniably true—he should've known; he should've listened, but he was too caught up with his own situation, with his revenge over logic—and he was meant to be the logical one_)

The texture of his palms and digits feels brittle, arid, from the dried blood upon his palms. Everything feels so brittle to him.

Tousled tresses and strands of ebony stuck to his forehead and cheeks, matted with blood and perspiration. He felt sickened with himself—a monster. A monster who thought he could eradicate emptiness with blood, when that's what caused his emptiness.

A foolish monster—_foolish little brother_.

Through his bloodied gaze, everything begins to dim—the radiant glow of the sun; the vibrant blue of the sky; the mellow cream of the clouds; the bright green of the leaves and grass; the thick wine-red hued blood matted ground. Everything began to dim and blur, even with his sharingan activated and inactivated.

(_so foolish—_)

The vibrant colours of the foliage and his surroundings began to blur, fading into one another, distorting.

(_foolish little brother—_)

Images of his past flicker in his mind, mixing with the images of his surroundings, confusing him more than he was. Images of when he truly loved Itachi and respected him flickered, flashing from the two of them smiling, to another with Itachi holding Sasuke up by the neck.

(_you will become my light—_)

Everything started spinning, blurring and flickering—the glow of the sun brightened, blindingly bright. He wished he was blind—but for so many reasons.

(_but how can I become your light, when you were the one who submerged me into the darkness since that day? He thinks—another question best left unanswered_)

The light dims again—he suddenly feels light-headed, unsteady, dizzy. Everything appears as a shadow, a silhouette of something or nothing.

And through the turmoil, anguish and irony, a light shines—he hears a voice that he though he'd never hear. Not since that day.

"Sasuke-kun?" It's her voice, undoubtedly. Though her voice sounded mature, he could still tell it was Sakura. He'd always be able to—whether he wished to or not.

He can hear the leaves crackling and rustling, her tentative footsteps echoing in his ears—her soft, ragged breathing reverberates through his ears, but all he can see is shadows.

(_he hears her call his name, breathlessly, airily—_Sasuke-kun…?_—her voice is still so light, delicate, yet rich in resonance—a part of him feels partially surprised that she still continues to add the honorific to his name—another part feels relieved that she still cherishes him just as the way she did all those years back_)

The rustling sound of the grass and leaves comes to a complete standstill—the ragged breaths hitch, ending with near-silent gasp.

In his line of scarlet vision, he can see the shape of her rounded face. She's matured so much—the softness of her cheeks much sharper and vivid, her nose is pointed. But, he'd never mistake those green eyes for someone else's.

"Sasuke…_Sasuke-kun_!" She cries, falling to his side immediately. Her knees hit the ground, marred with bruises and grass but she pays it no heed.

A soft green light emanates from her palms, as she begins to heal his chest immediately.

(_what she doesn't see is the lift of one corner of his mouth—just when he think he's alone, she decides to appear…and he doesn't make a single move to stop her from coming to him_)

And as his vision slowly fades to black, the image of her is etched into his mind, as his eyes fall shut, with the warmth and light emanating from her palms encompassing him.

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**A/N: I'm really sorry, allurement. I really am. It was so cheesy and cliché and…I'M SORRY!**

**But I had fun writing the KakaRin part and the beginning of the SasuSaku part. It was just the ending that was so…so horrible!**

**-sighs-**

**I'll write a better KakaRin fanfic for you in the near future. But still though—you don't know how happy I was to know that I wasn't the only one who loves KakaRin. :)**

**Reviews please!**


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